


meet my friend ben dover

by inacolloquialsense



Category: Impractical Jokers
Genre: Dreaming, M/M, Night Terrors, character death and depiction of violence are the same paragraph describing part of a nightmare, it gets weird but when does it not, probing and sex, sort of weird to follow along dreams, wet dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2017-09-14
Packaged: 2018-12-29 17:17:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12089679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inacolloquialsense/pseuds/inacolloquialsense
Summary: They were all dying. The crew hovering like vultures around the extra monitor, giggles becoming louder and more guttural as the scene went on. Sal on the ground, legs up akin to a flipped turtle rolling on his back. Joe barely standing as he screams into the mike, with a laugh growing louder by the second, and Quinn near howling while busting up a chair in his excitement. If laughter’s a good medicine he’ll never pop a pill for the rest of his life. It only got better the second time around.





	meet my friend ben dover

**Author's Note:**

> second thoughts involving guilt and what could have gone wrong  
> main focus is the prostate punishment, but several other ones make their own sort of appearance
> 
> i uh like the word presenting then this happened. this got weird then bad then weird again. faster than usual. contains gore and nsfw material

“It’s not funny, man!” James frowns and slaps Brian over the arm repeatedly. His whole head still lit up pink from embarrassment. “What the hell?! I always get the worst punishments! Assholes! What’s the matter with you guys?!” 

“Ow, ah, ow.” Q is unable to distinguish pain from unbridled joy, and he mixes laughs with yelps. For another few seconds he lets Murr hit him, but enough’s enough. He grabs James’ wrists and holds him still. “I’m sorry, dude. It wasn’t even my idea. I think it was Sharyn on the sound crew. We didn’t mean any harm.” He gives a sympathetic look, smile weak but genuine.

Without being able to throw his temper tantrum Murray is trembling, water building in his eyes. His voice dropped from a shout to defeated blubbering. “My whole family watches the show. I’m never gonna be able to look at’em in the eye.” He tugs away from Quinn for the last time, and his arms fall to his side. Silence weighs heavy between them for several beats. His hands bunch into fists. “I don’t even know what the fans will be yelling at me.”

Quinn crumbles at James’ uncharacteristically lifeless tone. His face pulls down, and he wraps both his arms around Murr’s still form. “Guy, I’m sorry. Really, honestly. I-it was just a punishment. Ya’know? It wasn’t anything personal. I’m sorry.”

Murr shrugs him off. “Whatever. I don’t care anymore. I’m fine.” He spat out. “Tell Dan I’m gonna take a long weekend.” Murray grabs his coat and walks out.

He doesn’t follow. It’s all melodramatics. Played up to egg on the guilt. Quinn’s sure of it. Absolutely, definitely, probably, maybe. James doesn’t reply to texts and must have shut his phone off as it goes straight to voicemail. 

“I think maybe we should do something nice for him.” Q puts on a nice, light tone. He hopes to delicately nudge the discussion to his desired conclusion. “Murray seemed real beat up about what happened last week. The last time I saw him he was full out crying.”

“So what? He’s a fucking baby. He cries all the time. If you think I’m gonna spend any amount of my bank account to cheer up that jackass then you’re dumber than he is. He’s playing you for a chump. He’ll get over the punishment. He always has before.” Sal hangs up.

“You’re right, man. I’ve been thinking about doing the same thing. I’ll tell you what. I will book a reservation at his favorite restaurant then pay for his drinks as we go paint the town red. He’s had such a rough time he really deserves a good night out. I’ll set it up for when Hell freezes over.” Joe hangs up.

His strength and will evaporate without the collective energy of his friends. No fucking way is he going to wine and dine James all by his lonesome. Sal was right. Murr’ll get over it. They just started their two month break, so there was plenty of time for him to recover and buck up.

Q on the other hand.

He distanced himself from Murray, half ashamed at his own cowardice to not act on his beliefs. On his phone he scrolls through weeks of backlogged texts before James’ punishment. They consisted of things like “I’m downstairs with coffee and donuts.” “Catsitting for my neighbor. Sending pixx.” “You left your hoodie at my place. I’ll bring it to work.” Oh fuck him. Fuck him so hard for being a real-life person. This is such bull.

The silent treatment is the last thing he expects. James has never in his life shut up. Brian once got Murr in so much trouble his parents took his Nintendo, wallet, and phone privileges. Then they stripped his room of art or posters to make it more similar to a prison cell. Still, Quinn had a minimum of an hour each school day listening to him complain and come up with schemes to rectify his awful situation.

It’s getting harder to sleep. Not that it was ever an incredibly simple task. A typical night ended with a quick jerk off session then snoozeville. His head insists on shoving James to the forefront of his thoughts, and it’s made going to bed very different. Confusing. He elected to skip his usual routine entirely. Without the rigid schedule shooting for the show provided he made his own sleep cycle. Watching his tv until he passed out from exhaustion around 4:00am.

Dreams are also different. He remembers them now, for one. Most are unsettling. One is of Murr screaming at the top of his lungs, strapped onto a spinning wheel. Instead of fake throws timed with rigged balloons he’s really being stabbed. James is presenting to a room packed with people. His numb mouth can’t form the words correctly, and his teeth start falling out then his tongue. Next the skin covering his mouth then his entire jaw. James broken and bleeding in an open field with a torn parachute flapping behind him.

Quinn lays off the horror movies. Doesn’t drink after midnight and keeps the light on in his room. It helps, sort of.

Q searches for something he can’t quite recall, wandering through his childhood home. Murray’s walking around in a hospital gown, sniffling with wet eyes. Brian is so relieved to see him alive and relatively healthy. When he makes to hug his friend there’s no body left in his grasp. His arms close around nothing then he wakes up.

Q thought he was lucky for this dream to be caught as the recurring one, considering his previous nightmares. Released from his fear of sleeping he manages to get to bed before 1 am. For the most part his head’s Murr-free aside from dreamland. He returns to a more regular life.

He goes to a bar and finds company with others. He strikes out with the others, and finds company in his hand and an old playboy. Just as well. He was antsy after weeks of not masturbating. It filled him with such relief he might have gone overboard. He rotted his brain with bad pornos, but it occupied him enough to not care. Self-stimulation seemed like the perfect remedy for his problems until antics from his waking hours slipped past their allotted time slot.

Mid-act his dream goes from fucking Wonder Woman to fucking James. At the time he thinks nothing of it, but when he wakes up he’s aching hard and quite conflicted. Not so perturbed by the idea to put him off picturing it again as he strokes himself to climax. He wipes his come on the bedspread and does laundry. For the first time in a while he does the whole spring cleaning gig and tidies up his place. Clean home. Clean mind. Something he never wholly believed in, but it’s worth a shot.

Turns out it is bullshit, because his mind keeps playing this game of switcheroo. To the point where his friend is a regular contender in his wet dreams, and he’s given up silencing himself as he jacks off in bed and moans his name. It doesn’t mean anything. People dream bizarre scenarios all the time. In college he had a sex dream with a Muppet. Life just throws curve balls you can’t avoid.

In his recurring dream he’s gone from hugging air to wrapping his arms around a solid form. James cries into his shoulder then evaporates into nothing. Q wants to kiss him. It’s getting harder to differentiate his wants from the dream and his waking mind.

He’s standing in a conference room of empty chairs. At the end of the room James says words too quiet or muffled for him to hear. Quinn’s next to him and Murr bends over. His pants are pushed down with his ass exposed and he’s blushing into the table. “Okay. I’m ready, now.”

Brian recognizes he’s dressed in the garb of a doctor. Beside Murr is a pair of rubber gloves and bottle of lubricant. He puts them on and wets himself before pushing a finger in. “Everything checks out. You feel good.” He smiles happily, pulling away and patting Murray’s side.

“Doc, can I get a second opinion.” James lies completely on the table. Hips arched up in the air as he spreads himself with his hands, presenting.

Q traces his palm over the swell of his ass. “Of course.” He pushes two fingers into his entrance, and James shudders. “You’re my favorite patient.” He thrusts them in and out in fast motions. Murr grips the table’s edge and lets out soft whines.

“You’re so big.” He says when Q leans with a hand on the table. “Look at the size difference.” Compared to his own, Murr’s fingers are almost slender.

“If you’re impressed now just wait.” Quinn grabs James’ waist and backs him onto his cock. He fucks into him roughly. He listens to Murray’s moans and gasps echo around the room.

Brian wakes up sweaty with come in his boxers. The only proper wet dream he’s had in years, and it’s of his best friend. No celebrities or hot coworkers for him to pawn off his arousal. Beginning to end it was just the two of them.

“Shit.” He whispers to himself and lays an arm over his head.

Two blocks away he’s at a CVS and picks up several bottles of different sleep aides then one of nyquil just to be sure. The cashier rings him up with an odd look fixed on their features. He didn’t bother to put a hat on and his greasy hair stands up wildy. He looks down and sees his pajama pants. “Goddamnit.” He knew he forgot something. After paying he books it home. Locks the door and tosses the plastic bag on the counter.

Come sundown he’s gonna get better sleep than the dead.

He gets on his laptop and jacks off to a video of two lesbians fingerbanging each other. Doesn’t seem like enough. Once he cleans up and dresses, Brian drives to a bar he likes and picks up a chick. They swap spit in his jeep. At her place he eats her out and she orgasms clenched around his hand. He licks his lips and before the end of the hour they’re strangers again, walking opposite directions.

The rest of the day he spends filtering through emails he had been willfully ignoring. At 8 he orders in pizza and drinks the last of a bottle of Jack. Just about midnight he takes several pills of something and is blessed with a night of deep dreamless slumber.

If you call the groggy hellscape he enters waking, then he wakes up hours later than normal. He convinces himself it is better. In less than three weeks he will start the production of the show with everyone, and he’s not going to let his mind wander freely. Conscious or not. 

The sun sets and rises around him in his semi-aware stupor, and five days into his drug-induced hibernation he flushes every last pill down the drain. His mind had been playing tricks on him, and everything seemed much too scattered. James called him and his cock was halfway rigid at the sound of his voice. Q really hopes that moment was a dream or some kind of hallucination.

Two weeks. Count them down. 

He makes the most of the time he has left, spends each night in some bar or club. It has nothing to do with what’s going on between his ears. He seeks out others for a good time and nothing more. Quinn opens his eyes in stranger’s beds and feels more at home than his own place. Every waking moment is a fast dash away from thoughts of one particular subject.

When he leaves the abode of his bed mate he doesn’t hear the idle chatter of what he said in his sleep, of what he moaned under his breath hours before being conscious. The most crucial thing is him never confronting his demons.


End file.
